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TAMING OF THE SHREW.
SCENE I. Before an Alehouse on a Heath.
Sly. I'LL pheese you, in faith.
Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue!
Sly. Y'are a baggage; the Slies are no rogues: Look in the chronicles; we came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, paucas pallabris; let the world slide. Sessa!
Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have burst? Sly. No, not a denier. Go by, says Jeronimy;- Go to thy cold bed and warm thee.
Host. I know my remedy; I must go fetch the thirdborough. [Exit. Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him by law. I'll not budge an inch, boy; let him come, and kindly. [Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep.
Wind Horns. Enter a Lord from Hunting, with Huntsmen and Servants.
Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds: Brach Merriman, -the poor cur is embossed, And couple Clowder with the deep-mouthed brach. Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good At the hedge corner, in the coldest fault? I would not lose the dog for twenty pound.
1 Hunt. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord;
Lord. Thou art a fool; if Echo were as fleet,
I would esteem him worth a dozen such.
But sup them well, and look unto them all;
1 Hunt. I will, my lord.
Lord. What's here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe?
2 Hunt. He breathes, my lord. with ale,
Were he not warmed
This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.
Lord. O monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies!
And brave attendants near him when he wakes;
1 Hunt. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.
Lord. Even as a flattering dream, or worthless fancy. Then take him up, and manage well the jest; – Carry him gently to my fairest chamber, And hang it round with all my wanton pictures: Balm his foul head with warm distilled waters, And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet: Procure me music ready when he wakes, To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound: And if he chance to speak, be ready straight, And, with a low, submissive reverence, Say,-What is it your honor will command? Let one attend him with a silver basin,
Full of rose-water, and bestrewed with flowers;
And say,-Will't please your lordship cool your hands?
It will be pastime passing excellent,
If it be husbanded with modesty.
1 Hunt. My lord, I warrant you, we'll play our part,
As he shall think, by our true diligence,
Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him. And each one to his office when he wakes.[Some bear out SLY. A trumpet sounds. Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds:[Exit Servant.
Belike, some noble gentleman, that means,
How now? who is it?
An it please your honor,
Now, fellows, you are welcome.
1 Play. We thank your honor. Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night? 2 Play. So please your lordship to accept our duty. Lord. With all my heart.-This fellow I remember, Since once he played a farmer's eldest son; 'Twas where you wooed the gentlewoman so well. I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part Was aptly fitted, and naturally performed.
1 Play. I think 'twas Soto that your honor means. Lord. 'Tis very true;-thou didst it excellent.Well, you are come to me in happy time; The rather for I have some sport in hand, Wherein your cunning can assist me much. There is a lord will hear you play to-night: But I am doubtful of your modesties; Lest, over-eyeing of his odd behavior, (For yet his honor never heard a play,) You break into some merry passion, And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs, If you should smile, he grows impatient.
1 Play. Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves, Were he the veriest antic in the world.
Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, And give them friendly welcome every one: Let them want nothing that my house affords.[Exeunt Servant and Players. Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page, [To a Servant. And see him dressed in all suits like a lady:
That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber,
Bid him shed tears, as being overjoyed
SCENE II. A Bedchamber in the Lord's House. SLY is
discovered in a rich night-gown, with Attendants; some with apparel, others with basin, ewer, and other appurte
Enter Lord, dressed like a Servant.
Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale.
1 Serv. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack? 2 Serv. Will't please your honor taste of these conserves? 3 Serv. What raiment will your honor wear to-day? Sly. I am Christophero Sly; call not me-honor, nor lordship; I never drank sack in my life; and if you give
me any conserves, give me conserves of beef. Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear; for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet; nay, sometimes, more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the over-leather.
Lord. Heaven cease this idle humor in your honor!
Of such possessions, and so high esteem,
Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath; by birth a pedler, by education a card-maker, by transmutation a bearherd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not: if she say I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lyingest knave in Christendom. What, I am not bestraught. Here's
1 Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn. 2 Serv. O, this it is that makes your servants droop. Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun your house,
As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,
Wilt thou have music? Hark! Apollo plays,
1 Serv. Say, thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as
As breathed stags; ay, fleeter than the roe.
2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures? We will fetch thee straight Adonis, painted by a running brook; And Cytherea all in sedges hid;